


Zealous

by gryffindormischief



Series: Fresh Pickled Toad [26]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baking, F/M, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindormischief/pseuds/gryffindormischief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny attempts to perfect one of the domestic arts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zealous

**Author's Note:**

> just a little fic based on a couple prompts. Thank you all for reading and following. I love getting notifications throughout the day! Here's some Harry/Ginny goodness :)

Ginny Weasley blew a stray hair out of her face impatiently, sending up a cloud of flour to coat her entire person in the process. Sighing resignedly, she pushed her rolling pin out with an angry stroke, going rapidly off center and nearly upending her forgotten cup of tea. This was her first solo attempt at a full size treacle tart, a task she'd embarrassingly shied away from for months. Normally, she was a 'damn the bludgers full speed ahead' kind of girl, but the family treacle was a huge deal, and buggering it up would mean an entire table of angry Weasleys, but there was one non-Weasley she was particularly loath to disappoint.

Nonetheless, she'd woken up early this morning, already resolved that her day off from training would be spent expertly crafting a delectable treacle tart that would put Molly Weasley to shame. She paused, eyeing the slightly too gloppy treacle mixture… _perhaps shame is too strong of a word._

Carefully, gently, she inspected the evenness of the pie dough, poking at a section that just wouldn't lie flat like the rest. Giving it up as a bad job, she lifted the dough on her rolling pin, draping it slowly over the pie tin, using meticulous fingers to press it into the crimped sides of the pan. Patching up a few cracks deftly, she reached for the roll of parchment paper. As she pulled the bag of dry beans toward her, slim fingers slipped over her eyes, as a deep, low voice whispered, " _Boo_ " into the shell of her ear, breath fanning across her cheekbone.

"You'd better get out of here, my boyfriend is quite jealous, and he's got an itchy trigger finger, he'll have your wand in a trice," Ginny cheeked, reaching doughy hands to grip the muscled wrists that just kissed her temples, pulse thrumming steadily.

Chapped lips placed a teasing kiss behind her ear, "Wouldn't want to lose my _wand_."

Ginny hummed, pulling his hands down and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, "I have quite the vested interest in that wand. Don't lose it."

Finally dropping the gag and chuckling heartily, Harry turned her around in the circle of his arms, "I'll be sure to keep that in mind Miss Weasley."

"I'm getting flour and things all over you."

"Small price that," Harry rumbled, finally pressing his lips to hers, one hand slipping to cup the back of her head, pinky finger stroking the nape of her neck lightly.

Pulling herself closer, Ginny let out a quiet moan, running her nose along his cheek before settling on his jawline, working her way down his neck slowly, torturously.

Harry expelled a breath, hands massaging her back expertly before eventually slipping down somewhat lower toying with the tie of her apron, and sliding even further, "Gin." She hummed but otherwise went on, undeterred.

"Gin, dear, your mum." Despite his honorable words, Harry made no move to cut off their dalliance, instead taking some control for himself, tilting her face back toward his and pressing his smile against her own.

Ever the multi-tasker, Ginny answered his concern between kisses, "Not to worry, mum's just stepped out to pick up provisions for Sunday dinner."

Walking her back until her hips connected with the bench top, Harry breathed, " _Excellent_."

As she reached behind, hoping to push herself up onto the surface and even out their height difference, Ginny's palm connected with something metallic…and squishy, " _Blast!"_

Pulling away, eyes wide with concern, lips red and reasonably swollen, "Sorry, I shouldn't-"

"No. You should. The only thing you shouldn't do is _not_ ," Ginny shot back, smacking his chest and leaving a pale handprint in her wake.

Brow furrowed as he worked through the mind bender, Harry shook his head and eyed her curiously as she put her back to him, fiddling around with various implements he couldn't see, "Did I mess you up?"

Ginny paused, sending him a mischievous wink over her shoulder, "You know I _like_ when you mess me up."

"You're a bloody tease."

"It's not teasing when I have _every intention_ of following through. You're the only thing standing in your way," Ginny cheeked, flicking her wand to pre heat the oven.

Harry swiped a digit through the gooey treacle, smacking his lips in approval, "You were the one who shouted and stopped things. I was perfectly content to let you feel me up."

Ginny pushed by, sliding her unbaked crust into the oven with a clatter before flicking her wand to start the egg timer Mr. Weasley had brought home in a flurry weeks before, begging Harry and Hermione to explain the purpose behind the little innovation.

Wiping her hands on her much abused apron, one of Molly's spares in actuality, Ginny leaned back against the bench top once again, quirking a brow at Harry's last statement, "You make me sound like a scarlet woman."

Harry contorted, trying to show his bum and look at it himself, "These two new additions to my denims seem to agree."

Blushing faintly, she tried to pass it off with a chuckle, "You know I can't resist your little arse."

Pouting, Harry stepped forward and placed his hands on either side of her hips, blocking her in, "My arse is perfectly sized, thank you very much."

Shaking her head in false resignation, Ginny responded listlessly, "Of course, dear."

"You're not going to shake my confidence."

"If you say so."

"I'm quite certain," Harry sniffed, the hesitance in his voice indicating otherwise.

Finally breaking her act, Ginny extended her arms, inviting him into her embrace, "I'm just teasing love; your bum has kept me up many a night."

Mollified, Harry moved in to her, his pout slightly less real as he kissed her temple affectionately, "So what's all this?"

Ginny linked her hands behind his lower back, arching to look up into his face, _such a lovely face it is_ , "I'm learning to make treacle tart all by myself."

Eyebrows rising in interest, Harry's fingers slipped underneath the hem of her jumper, caressing the soft skin in slow circles, "And when do we get to sample this culinary masterpiece?"

"We don't."

Harry's face dropped, darkening rapidly as if she'd told him Quidditch was cancelled forever and she was leaving him for Professor Slughorn. He stiffened and blinked, "Who's it for?"

"Wait a minute," she gaped incredulously, "are you _jealous_?"

Busying himself with picking at a glob of dried dough on the counter, Harry shook his head and barely murmured, "No. Just…curious."

"Well, he's a charmer. All the women love him," she paused, taking in his cloudy expression, _its too easy to wind him up sometimes_ , "I'm quite smitten, to be honest."

Harry's eyes narrowed, leaving behind jealousy for pastry in favor of sussing out his treacle tart rival, " _Really_."

Nodding, Ginny stretched her arms up his chest, "He's got me wrapped around his little chubby fingers."

"Chubby."

Kneading his shoulders as she'd kneaded the dough, she assented, "Aye, and those little sparkling eyes, heart shaped face just like his mum."

"I knew that little git was going to steal you away," he grumbled, longingly taking in the beautiful golden syrup that rested less than a meter from his salivating mouth.

Ginny giggled, "I'm sure he'll share with his devastatingly gorgeous godfather."

"Sadly, not everyone is susceptible to tall, dark, and handsome," Harry lamented, eyes distant.

Rising on her toes, Ginny placed one, two, three kisses to his lips in quick succession, pulling away just enough to whisper, "Perhaps you can convince a certain someone who has recently mastered the art of traditional British dessert to make a second."


End file.
